Crisis at Christmas

December is here and, as far as Newcastle United are concerned; it’s beginning to look a lot like a crisis. Not the kind of crisis that involves those poor, blameless victims dealing with the fallout from the imposition of Universal Credit, or queuing up at the Food Bank to feed their starving bairns, but a sporting crisis all the same. One solitary point has been harvested from the last six games, following a 2-2 draw at The Hawthorns that looked so unlikely after an hour. While recovering from 2-0 down seems an encouraging sign, and it was, it should be remembered that this was against a West Brom side that came into the game in even worse shape than Newcastle, with the pitiful busted flush Gary Megson in temporary charge, as the Baggies had binned Pulis for the soon-come renascent Pards. However, in contrast to the shot shy capitulations against Burnley, Bournemouth and Watford, the ball actually went into the opposition net, meaning the doubly deflected Evans/Rondon own goal was more than warmly welcomed. You take solace where you can, which is why the defeat to Chelsea probably wasn’t the worst result we’ve ever had. Like the defeat to Man United it saw a plucky opening superseded by depressing reality. Of course, Newcastle aren’t the only lower mid table side destined to concede 7 at Stamford Bridge and Old Trafford.

As I was actively engaged in preparations for my beloved Benfield’s glorious FA Vase victory against North Shields, I only got to see the first half from Stamford Bridge. We did okay I thought; neat finish by Gayle, Darlow unlucky for the equaliser but the result was seemingly settled almost on the whistle when Ritchie’s dreadful header undid all the hard work of the opening 45 and we went in a goal down. Every football fan in the country had read the script; plucky, limited underdogs try to box above their weight and are eventually found out. Games like that one won’t define the season, though the next couple of fixtures might; revitalised Leicester and Allardyce’s Everton, both at home, on the 9^th and 13^th. Even though the Leicester game is on telly, I’m struggling to see it; Benfield away to Seaham, followed by a book launch and then the Band of Holy joy at the Surf Café.  Priorities; you know what I’m saying? Sadly, it may be one well worth missing, as I’ve no confidence in the team to get anything from that one or the Everton game either, as it becomes more apparent by the game that the squad lacks heart in the same way it lacks any genuine quality.

It seems pointless to bang on about Benitez’s performance as boss, as it becomes ever more apparent that the squad he’s either assembled or been forced to work with, depending on your politics, are just not good enough to do the business in the top flight, despite the halcyon days of competence in September and October that seem an eternity ago as the lights come on at 4 at the end of another year. The saddest thing for me is the absence of spirit without Lascelles; since he’s been injured, the rest of them don’t seem to have the cojones for a relegation scrap, though the return of Merino should help in this context. The truly baffling thing is the Ritchie and Yedlin fiasco; it’s the most painful untangling of a couple I’ve seen since Den Watts presented Angie with her divorce papers on Christmas Day 1986.

However, despite the obvious risk of a car crash transfer window in January, followed by a queasy slalom on the relegation helter skelter and the departure of Benitez before another demotion to the Championship for 2018/2019, probably for the long haul, it isn’t the results and performances on the pitch that seem to be attracting collective furrowing of brows among the support. What’s really got everyone in high dudgeon is the clock ticking towards KrisKrissChrismas and the deadline set by Mike Ashley for any takeover of Newcastle United to be completed.

I don’t know huge amounts about Amanda Staveley, other than she’s a fabuloulys wealthy, unapologetic, far right Tory (is there any other kind?), who dropped out of her degree after ending up in a secure hospital with severe stress. Consequently, I don’t like her politics, but I do sympathise with her earlier mental health travails. I’m also very uncomfortable with any efforts on social media, however ham-fistedly humorous their intent, to objectify her as a kind of sex symbol, as that demeans her gender. The previous section of this paragraph can be taken as read, as it is has little or no relevance to her appearance in this article. Where Amanda Staveley becomes acutely relevant is in her role as the public face of an, as yet obscure, or even secretive, apparently middle eastern syndicate that seeks to buy Newcastle United from Mike Ashley. I may be naïve in this, but I would hope to know the finer points of every element of the collective cash rich oligarchs intending to purchase my club, before any deal is complete, so I can decide whether I am happy to give them my moral support and blessing.

Let’s be honest about this; the decade and a bit of Ashley’s ownership of NUFC, when taken as a whole, has been nothing short of a disaster. We are no nearer challenging for honours than we were the day Glenn Roeder offered his resignation in May 2007. While there have been momentary, almost illusory vignettes of joy along the way: the genuine collective effort of Chris Hughton’s bunch of lads, the unexpected swagger from Pards’ 4-3-3 set up in the season we finished 5^th and the surreal joy found on those occasions when the team really clicks, and we remember it’s Rafa Benitez managing them. All too often it’s been embarrassment and incompetence on and off the pitch: Sports Direct Arena, the Keegan court case, Shefki Kuqi replacing Andy Carroll, Pards headbutting Mayler, Carver’s press conferences, drip fed bullshit via Sky Sports, Llambias streaking, Kinnear bladdered on Talk Sport, transfer inaction and the constant sense that the club is being run as a cash cow for Ashley, like a down at heel market stall knocking out snide gear for the gullible and brainless.

Bearing in mind everything I’ve just said, I can understand exactly why so many Newcastle supporters will accept any takeover, regardless of who is behind it, as preferable to Ashley’s continued presence on Tyneside. While pausing to sadly note that the concept of fan ownership is now about as relevant to the current agenda as discussions about proportional representation are to the Brexit Omnishambles, I accept it is not just the servile sheep in the Sports Direct anoraks or the social media superfans who incessantly shout down, deride and abuse anyone who dares voice anything other than unblinking, unthinking loyalty to Benitez first of all, and now Staveley, who feel like this, but enormous numbers of ordinary, normal, proper fans, grown sick to the back teeth of seeing their club made a laughing stock and used as a punchbag by shady, shiftless shithouses.

Yet I must urge caution. Do we know anything about these prospective investors? Will we discover anything before it is too late? I’m not so sure and it matters to me, as well as one-time True Faith assistant editor, the erudite and articulate Gareth Harrison, who is almost singlehandedly doggedly raising the issue on social media to seemingly blanket indifference and outright hostility. I am fully aware that in a capitalist world, dirty money is universal and clean is scarce, though I do not expect that a person as well-regarded as Staveley, would seek to surround herself with fellow travellers that are the likes of Somalian pirates, Russian Mafiosi, South American drug lords or construction company executives making literal and metaphorical killings on the back of the World Cup in Qatar. Obviously, the nature of international trade links means that if one were to unravel the minutiae of every major world business deal, there would be many unpleasant skeletons in the cupboard; realistically and pragmatically, that is the kind of ethical compromise one is forced to make. Is that essentially any different to calling out Ashley over his shameful employment practices at his Shirebrook warehouse?

I’m not so ideologically pure as to demand 100% ethical investments from those trying to buy the club, but there are certain standards of decency and probity that must be adhered to. Fans of Cardiff City were delighted to see the back of Sam Hamann and Peter Ridsdale, but less keen to see their team turning out in red shirts at the insistence of new Malaysian investors. The pornographers in charge of West Ham United may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it’s a moot point whether they are less morally, as opposed to financially, bankrupt than the Icelandic syndicate who held power before them. While followers of Portsmouth, Leicester City and Sheffield Wednesday will recoil in horror for generations yet to come at the name Milan Mandarić. Worst of all, there is the sprawling, seemingly endless 5 act tragicomedy starring Leeds United, whose name alone acts as a touchstone for the concept of rapacious, incompetent ownership.

If the single biggest problem in world football is FIFA and the biggest on the continent we seem hellbent on leaving is UEFA, then the bugbears of our domestic game are the FA, from grassroots to the storied heights of the Premier League. Not one person who affects an interest in football finance and governance can have any trust in the efficiency of the FA’s pitiful test of what constitutes a fit and proper club owner. If, and it is a big if, Staveley’s syndicate (I don’t see any credibility in suggestions of a stalking horse bidder in the long grass) come up with the necessary dosh to rid our club of this turbulent barrow boy, can you really see the powers that be in the Premier League giving any thought to who has taken the place over? Precisely.

The truly bizarre thing is this discussion may well be purely theoretical. So far, Staveley has tabled a bid of something less than Ashley’s £300m asking price, which has been knocked back. With the club in disarray on the pitch, there is nothing to report in the boardroom, resulting in two potentially nightmare scenarios. Firstly, Ashley refuses to play ball and the whole deal is off, leaving him with a club he has no interest in or inclination to invest in, resulting in another wasted transfer window, potential relegation and the departure of Benitez. Secondly, discussions go on until the eleventh hour and an agreement is made so late in the day that any transfer of funds before the transfer window is an unrealistic proposition, again shedding light on potential relegation, though there is the hope that Benitez may stay with new owners in charge, if they are prepared to let Newcastle United compete with Brighton and Hove Albion or Huddersfield Town that is…

Whatever happens, it seems destined to provide fans of NUFC with another unpleasant white-knuckle ride on the rollercoaster of emotional despair. Only in the summer will we truly know if the whole thing came off the rails or provided a scarcely credible sense of stability on Barrack Road.